Johnlock: Jealousy Reveals All
by eviefaith
Summary: Basically, Sherlock and John haven't had a case for a couple weeks, John is starting to fall for Sherlock but is in denial, you could say. But after a trip to the 'supermarket' Sherlock just can't hide his jealousy as he has done in the past... (But oh no, Mrs Hudson!) How will things turn out between them?
1. Chapter 1

My tongue was sticking out to the side just I bit as a tried to concentrate on my new blog entry. Damn, I thought sighing to myself, I need to stop worrying about how smart I sound in these and just write out the case. Damn Sherlock, he's so patronising. I always end up worrying what Sherlock will think of my words. The air was unusually cooler inside the flat this morning, and I could feel the heat from my cup of tea radiating off onto my skin. Sometimes I found it quite hard to remember the details of every case, as weird as that might sound. How could I forget?

To be fair on me there's so much thrill and excitement with every case. Even outside of cases, Sherlock is impossible, he moves at a mile a minute and gets bored in two seconds flat some things just slip my mind in the middle of it all.

_… Obviously it was a trick of some sort. He wanted us to go the wrong place. But even then, why send me the emails at all? Or was it all a trick by someone else? _I typed out while a stream of words hastily filled my mind. My train of thoughts were interrupted by a messy set of curls rubbing softly against my cheek. I hadn't even heard Sherlock open my door, never mind flop unexpectedly on to my bed.

"Are you really not finished typing up our cases yet John?" His hoarse voice clouded my mind and I inhaled the rich scent of his shampoo, like vanilla. "My god, you are as slow typing as you are at keeping up with me on one of our wild goose chases."  
I couldn't help but smile, "Hey! I keep up with you fairly well I'll have you know, I never get left behind unless you purposely leave me behind! Thanks for that, by the way."  
Sherlock mused for a moment before he spoke. "Well yes you do actually; I did tell you your limp was psychosomatic, didn't I?" I could feel his grin flash against my cheek and a sudden tingle shot through my body. He loved bringing that up.

"Of course I had to win John, I wasn't going to let some armature little man, if that's what you can call him, win now was I." Sherlock was scanning my words, he did this a lot, but never so… _so close_.  
I felt him let his head fall onto my shoulder and groan; the purr of his groan went right through me, sending a tingling sensation down my spine.  
"Something wrong?" I questioned him, peering over only to be greeted again by his head of lavish curls.  
"I'm bored John! Bored, bored, bored, bored, BORED!"  
Oh boy. Sherlock when he's on a case is one thing, but Sherlock when he's bored? It's a whole new ball game. We hadn't had a new case in a couple weeks, and things on Lestrade's end were unusually quiet. I tried to explain to Sherlock that that was actually a rather good thing and well, that conversation didn't exactly go down well. As you would expect, it is Sherlock after all.

I finished typing up the case and clicked post; Sherlock was a mastermind and if something needed to be noticeably corrected he would have bluntly told me so.  
I sighed, still with Sherlock's head resting on my shoulder. "Why don't we go out and get some breakfast ey?" I suggested, "It will give you a chance to get out of your pyjamas for once."  
To that his head shot up and I turned around on the floor to face him. Sherlock did spend a considerable amount of time in his pyjamas, something which I had always found quite bizarre. While yes, normal people loved spending time in their pyjamas, but Sherlock wasn't normal.  
"I like my pyjamas I'll have you know and I am not hungry." He was pouting.  
"When was the last time you ate, Sherlock?" I eyed him suspiciously, fully aware of his habits.  
Sherlock surprised me by placing his head against his palms, with his hands lying perfectly on his cheeks, "That's not really important now is it. I keep telling you John, I don't need food- my body can run fine without it."  
I scrunched up my face, suggesting to him otherwise "You nearly passed out last week Sherlock; in fact you nearly pass out most weeks. If I wasn't around to physically threaten you to eat I don't know how you would survive."  
He wiggled forward a little bit, eyeing me as he did so. I was quite baffled if I'm honest, not only was Sherlock on my bed for starters, I had never once been_ this_ close to the man.  
"Errr Sherlock…" I muttered under my breath, any closer and our noses would be touching. This was very infrequent behaviour for Sherlock, actually it wasn't even frequent. He had never done this before, never been so… so intimate? Is that the right word? Hmm. Sherlock stared at me with a hard, stern expression on his face. I couldn't tell what he was thinking but for some unknown reason, I didn't want to move.

It was only now I was actually seeing Sherlock, physically seeing him. As much as he would hate me for saying this, I _kne_w him. I know who Sherlock Holmes is and I understand him. _This, _was different though. I had never noticed his physical appearance much before, not like this. Of course I was aware of his somewhat male magnetism, it was impossible not to notice the attention he gets from most females, and sometimes men. Now though, I was really noticing his appearance... His eyebrows were wild, his left one more so than the right. His eyes… So dark, but the rim was red. Not an obvious red, but a red none the less. Probably from the lack of sleep, but if I had to take another guess I would say probably from the obsessive use of nicotine patches he uses. He had a few indents on his face, undoubtedly from fighting while on a case. There was the slightest hint of stubble around his lips, something you would only notice from such close a range as we were and I couldn't help but notice the perfect preciseness of his lips, set in a straight line due to his harsh expression but still, I couldn't help but notice. Then of course, his cheekbones. Irene Adler's voice suddenly came into my mind; "_I could cut myself slapping that face_" she had said. They were marvelous, I heard myself think. I blinked repeatedly, my attention swiftly being drawn to my mouth, it was watering.

Sherlock pulled me out of my rapt as he effortlessly jumped up and left the room without saying a word. Unbelievable, I thought. I cleared my throat, got up and followed him.

"And what was all that about?" I wondered aloud to him, my eyebrows rose and there was a slight noticeable crack in my voice.  
"What was all what about?" He barked back, walking over to his violin. He picked it up and carefully began tuning it.  
I signed again; he was so difficult all the time. "You know what Sherlock, that. You. In there. What was all that about?" I knew it was pointless asking really. Like I said, _I knew him_.  
"I don't have the slightest indication of what you are on about John." And with that I heard the soothing sounds of his violin, and I knew I wouldn't get another word out of him for a while.

...

I'd only been gone an hour or so, but was now heading up the stairs in 221B, wondering why I couldn't hear the sounds of Sherlock playing his violin. He can literally play for hours on end, _trust me_. I opened the door to an empty living room, but before I could call out for him I heard his voice, more rougher than than this morning, call out "In the kitchen, John."  
I walked through the living room and saw that Sherlock was peered over his usual scientific deductions, appearing to be heavily involved in whatever experiment he was up to. He was dressed now, I noticed. I was just about to leave to sit down when…

"Was she nice then?" Sherlock' voice was sharp, poisonous like a snake. How could he… "Excuse me?" Sherlock was clever, I'd give him that but there' no way he could know that I had just-  
"Earlier you left to go to the supermarket- and yet you return home with no shopping bags. This morning you suggested we should go out for breakfast which clearly indicates we have no food in or you would have offered to make us some. There are leaves stuck to the bottom of your right shoe and both shoes have the faintest trace of mud on them, it rained a few hours ago but stopped shortly after indicting that the mud did not come from your usual walk to the supermarket as the pavement would not be wet enough to cause the mud marks on your shoes however the rain would make it just wet enough to moisten a leaf causing it to stick to whatever surface may tread across it, telling me you were planning on walking to the supermarket but never made it. As you entered the building you were whistling, whistling, you never whistle unless you've had a pleasant encounter with a woman, the mud traces on your shoes suggests that you both got chatting in the street and she lured you off of your path as she was so charismatic you offered to walked her home, so instead of carrying onwards towards the supermarket you turned left through the park causing the mud traces on your shoes as even though the rain did stop a few hours ago the grass in the park would obviously still be wet. Wet and muddy, to be precise." He let the S sound carry on just a bit, making his lips pucker while still looking down through his microscope.

I was completely flabbergasted. "Unbelievable… Un-bloody-believable." I managed to speak, looking towards Sherlock with sheer amazement. Even after all this time together, his deductions could still leave me breathless and stunned. "You got all that from the state of my shoes."  
"Well I'll admit not just your shoes, the collar on right side of your coat is turned inwards telling me you've taken your coat off and recently put it back on again, you wouldn't take your coat off to get a few bits from the supermarket suggesting that this woman invited you in for a drink to say thank you for the walk home. Nobody is ever that nice, she was interested in you, of course, she invited you in. Usually you would notice if your collar was messed up and would straighten it out suggesting you were too dazed to realise it- she kissed you. You do get shy around women sometimes John, you were nervous so you didn't realize your collar wasn't straight but once you got outside you were too cold to think so you headed straight on back home without reassembling your attire."  
I shook my head in disbelief. No one could be that clever… but he was. He was _that _clever.  
Sherlock looked up this time, locking our eyes, "So, nice was she?"  
I opened my mouth to speak but found it hard to form words. We kept eye contact for several seconds until Sherlock unexpectedly walked over from the kitchen and went and sat down in his chair, leaving me feeling strangely uneasy without his presence.

I followed him, sitting in my chair, still not quite sure what to think.  
"Uhh… um, yeah she was good thank… thank you." My words stuttered unintentionally as they came out.  
"Good not great?" Sherlock snapped back. His hands were pressed tightly together under his chin, something wasn't right. The way Sherlock was acting you would assume he was trying to solve a case, but he wasn't.  
"Why are you being like this Sherlock?" My head tilted again, it did that sometimes, out of my control.  
He didn't respond, he just stared at me, hands still under his chin, looking at me the same way he had this morning. It wasn't until I noticed the muscle in his jaw flex that it dawned on me.

_Sherlock was jealous. _And he wasn't staring at me, he was... smouldering me, just like he had been this morning. The way his pupils were directly specifically towards me and the way his eyebrows were pulled down, his tense jaw line- _of course_! He was jealous! _Sherlock Holmes was jealous_. But... why? Why would Sherlock be jealous that I'd been out with a woman? He never usually… **_Oh_**. But wait, I suddenly recalled, he always acts like this when he learns, or rather I say he knows I've either had or have a date. How haven't I noticed this before, until now?

I felt my stomach tense.

Have you ever had a lump in your throat? The painful one, the one in which you can't speak and you feel like you are trapped inside of a silhouette of your own body screaming to get out, but you're trapped. Or are so incredibly saddened or overwhelmed? I thought I had experienced such a thing, but as it turns out it's one of those things that when it happens, you know it. _You are sure._

I have endured war and injury and tragic loss, and in the face of all that I have never felt as strong emotions as I did when I realized that Sherlock Holmes, my best friend, was irrevocably in love with me.

It had been around seven minutes or so now and Sherlock was still sat across from me, silent and unmoving, as was I sat across from him. I wasn't too sure if Sherlock had comprehended what I had just deducted, but nevertheless here we both were. Just me, Sherlock and… mixed emotions.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before I spoke, "Sherlock…" His name came out in a sombre whisper, my eyes fluttered repeatedly and I didn't even know where to being or even what to say to him. The man who has never once shown attraction for anyone of either sex (with the exception of Irene Adler, who Sherlock still denies he had feelings for to this day) and never even show any interest in wanting a relationship with anyone, always claiming that "caring wasn't an advantage" and that "alone protects me" and here he was, fully aware of what I have deducted (of course he knows, who am I kidding), and not even denying a single part of it because _he knows, _it is simply the undeniable truth.

I felt tears clog up my eyes and I clenched my firsts, urging for them to go away. My mind was an abysmal dessert, filled only with thoughts I could not comprehend and moments as clear as the sky is blue on how much I actually meant to Sherlock, moments that now looking back I cannot believe I was so boringly stupid not to see the unadorned truth.

"John, I…" Sherlock's voice was soft now; I could hear the sincerity in his voice.  
"Shh!" I interrupted, cutting him off before he could breathe another word. Before my brain even registered was I was doing, I was up on my feet and I hesitantly made my way towards Sherlock, watching him like a hawk for any signs that I should refrain myself. Sherlock's hands were gripping onto the sides of his chair now; I could see his fingers tightly clenching the fabric of the chair. Yet, his face had softened and his eyes lit up excitedly, locked securely on mine. When I reached him, I cautiously leaned down, carefully watching his every expression only to learn that the closer I got, the more content Sherlock seemed to become. As I drew my body closer to his, I felt Sherlock's body relax, the warmth of his body making me ache for him in ways I didn't even think were possible.

I rested my hand gently on his knee, our faces as close as they were this morning, our noses almost touching. My mouth turned up at the corners and I bit my lip eagerly, Sherlock seemed to take pleasure from that as I felt him set his hand down on mine, inviting me in further. I placed my other arm on the back on the chair, supporting me as I slowly closed my eyes and leaned in…

My lips brushed Sherlock's gently at first and then again… and a third time. I pulled back slightly, opening my eyes to find Sherlock already staring back at me. His eyes were sparkling like crystal now, and a cheeky grin was playing around at his lips. I couldn't help but grin back. There was heat between us, radiating, making us both glow with satisfaction. I lingered there for a moment, feeling warm and gooey inside. I wanted to remember this feeling for the rest of my life.

As if from nowhere and to my delight, Sherlock surprised the hell out of me by grabbing my waist and pulling me on to the chair with him, only I was more straddling him than sitting. He kissed me this time, hard and fierce. For a few moments my brain completely shut down, and the pure ecstasy of our lips as they aggressively entwined made my heart pound recklessly. I moved my lips to his jawline, the hairs on my skin stood vigilant and I gasped as Sherlock slid his cold hand hungrily up my shirt and onto my back. I left a trail of kisses along his jawline, moving down towards his long, gaping neck, exploring him further. I discovered multiple sensitive spots as I kissed different parts of his neck and decided to experiment. I lightly tugged at a spot with my teeth and in response felt Sherlock thrust into me and let slip a small groan. This pleased me to no end so I bit down harder this time, introducing a slight sucking motion and I felt Sherlock's fingers dig belligerently into my back.

"Booooooys!" Sweet Mrs Hudson called out, loud enough for us both to hear and we simultaneously froze. I quickly leaned back, feeling the blood rush out of my face and pressed my lips together hard to try and contain my laughter.  
"Shhhh" Sherlock hissed, flashing his brilliant smile at me. I felt my heart cave in.  
"Yes Mrs Hudson?" Sherlock shouted back gaudily in response. He was panting slightly, his hands back again on the side of the chair, this time gripping the fabric more aggressively than before. _He wanted more_. Who would have thought Sherlock Holmes would ever show even the slightest interest in sex?  
Just then we heard Mrs Hudson making her way up the stairs as she spoke, "I'm bringing you boys up some tea!" She sang cheerfully, blissfully unaware of her poorly time interruption.  
With that I jumped up quicker than I ever have before and went and sat back down in my own chair, while Sherlock hastily re-did his buttons on his shirt and wiggled around in his seat to sit in a less susceptible position. The rush of adrenaline was still pumping through my entire body and I couldn't help but marvel over what had just happened.

"I've brought you two up some biscuits as well, I thought it might be as exciting as it gets around here seen as you both don't have a case on." Mrs Hudson expressed as she walked in with the tray and set it on the table. She looked over at us suspecting something was going on and smiled sheepishly, "Oh you boys, you're always up to no good. Go on, what is it this time?" She asked as she rolled her eyes, smiling idyllically to herself as she poured the tea, blissfully unaware. I shot a glance over at Sherlock, trying not burst with laughter and we shared a cheeky little smirk between us.  
"Remember Mrs Hudson," Sherlock spoke gleefully; "John doesn't have sugar." His intended longing on the word sugar made me tense, the movement of his lips from an O to an R were rather flirtatious, and I couldn't help but hope Mrs Hudson wouldn't stay for _too_ long.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ugh", I groaned gruffly as I stretched my arms out in front of my face, stretching my legs and toes at the same time, my back arching. I let out a small sigh and flopped quietly back onto the bed. Suddenly it dawned on me that my alarm clock hadn't woken me up for once, and when I looked over to retrieve the time- it was gone.

That was odd? I don't recall moving it or accidently knocking it over in the night, perhaps. I sat up and peeked around the room slightly- nothing. Hmm. How strange. With another groan I forced myself out of bed, stretching out my body once more as I grabbed my dressing gown from the chair and swung it around my embellished frame.

I got to the bottom of the stairs, about to enter the living room where I presumed Sherlock was and abruptly froze. _Oh, Sherlock_. He would already be awake. A sudden gust of anxiety hit me and I turned around and dashed quickly up my stairs. Back again in my room, I halted myself in front of the mirror and readjusted the state of my pyjamas and dressing down. My hair was ruffled from sleeping on a weird angle, so I tried my best to fatten it down. I could change into my clothes, I thought. But no, Sherlock would suspect something was up and I didn't want that to happen. I wanted things to be completely ordinary, just like it was any other day.

After orienting my appearance and walking back down the stairs, I took a deep breath and walked casually into the living room. Looking around, I saw Sherlock staring intently at what appeared to be, well, nothing actually.  
"Err, Sherlock?" I questioned, stepping closer towards him, my head tilting as I drew closer, trying to determine what it was he was observing. I could feel the nerves inside my chest intensify.  
_Nothing_. He didn't even look up. Funny how he couldn't keep his hands off me yesterday, never mind his eyes, I recalled, feeling oddly jealous of a bloody beaker.  
I couldn't deduce if there was a flare or awkwardness in the air or if it was just me. Sherlock and I hadn't spoken since yesterday evening. After Mrs Hudson's somewhat misfortunate timing yesterday, things had been rather, well, strange.

Once Mrs Hudson had closed the door yesterday evening, I looked over at Sherlock and he was already smiling voluptuously at me. I had rather expected us to carry on from where we left off, if I'm honest, and the look in Sherlock's eyes had already told me he thought the same thing. To my disappointment however, we didn't. After a few moments of staring audaciously at one another, something made Sherlock unexpectedly flinch and he walked over to the fireplace, picked up his violin and started playing.

We haven't spoken since.

"John?" Sherlock spoke, still looking down at the beaker. Maybe it was just me but I could swear he was feeling just as nervous as I was, regretful even. I pondered with the idea of 'playing it cool', pretending that our somewhat propitious make-out session yesterday was nothing. The thought made my stomach churn, because it wasn't _nothing. _It was something. Something I just couldn't quite understand yet.

I looked over towards him, my face soft. "Yeah?" I breathed. He was gorgeous. I couldn't help but smile at his messy head of curls that were sprawled all over the place, his version of 'bed head'. Well in Sherlock's case, 'this is my I-haven't-slept head'.

This time, he looked towards me. He was glowing, not literally of course, but there was something about him… his appearance. His eyes were sparkling, his expression looked calmer, less frustrated. Sherlock usually had the same face, the "I have a case or I'm trying to work something out" face, but this was different. Like he wasn't thinking about anything that would puzzle him, which is (lets face it) the face he wears ninety-nine percent of the time. It was odd.

"You really didn't need to go back and modify yourself, you look great just the way you are."

_Wow. _Did Sherlock Holmes genuinely just compliment me?

The way he looked at me after he spoke tugged at my heart strings. "Er, thanks." I managed to say, nervously.  
My mind was clouded, I couldn't really comprehend what I was saying. "I don't know what came over me, I guess it's what I get from living with a man who, regardless of getting sleep or not, looks, I have to say, amazing pretty much all of the time." I blushed sheepishly at my own words.

Sherlock took off of his white laboratory gloves and set them down, ruffled his hair and walked over towards where I was stood. His motion left me, once again, breathless.  
"One does not simply acquire good looks John, but discovers them in themselves only after apprehending what a remarkable and marvellous human being they are."

His words made me shiver and I bit the inside of my lip, wanting so badly to just caress his face. He laughed joyfully when he saw my dazed expression.  
"Apologies John, what I mean is that people don't look 'amazing' as you so put it, people are amazing because of their personality and the attributes you see in that person, one's that you admire." He flashed a brilliant smile and leaned further towards me, placing his hand on my hip gently. The touch sent a bolt of electricity run through my entire body.

As far as subtext goes, I was pretty sure Sherlock had not only called me amazing, but also told me he admires me as a person. He didn't actually say it, but the glimmer in his eyes and the radiating smile on his face told me all I needed to know.

I was utterly gobsmacked. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. If I'm being honest, I didn't think Sherlock was capable of saying such things. He was always so secluded and isolated; he had been alone for his entire life and up until last night never once showed any interest or intellect in relationships or those caring lovey-dovey feelings. I didn't think _he even knew how_ to compliment someone. Perhaps this was Sherlock's idea of 'romance', I mean, as far as I can tell the man doesn't know a thing about how to flirt or what you would say to lead someone on, maybe this was his way.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood vigilant and I clenched my toes. There was an aching sensation burning deep in the depths of my skin and I craved for my lips to be on Sherlock's. I saw him faintly bite his lower lip and I couldn't resist myself anymore. I placed one hand hastily on his where it lay against my hip, and let the other one tightly grab ahold of his shirt, tugging at it. My hand clawed gently against his skin. I wanted him so badly. I leaned closer...

_*KNOCK KNOCK*_


	3. Chapter 3

_AGAIN?!_

I screamed the word in my head, feeling more frustrated than ever. Either we had unfortunate luck or the universe was trying to tell us something.

I really hope it's the first one.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, went over and opened the door. "Yeeesss?" His voice was husky, deep. Very sexy.

The woman was small, shaking and scared. Her cropped red hair was wet at the ends, letting it shape her face accordingly. Her expression juxtaposed with her physical state, yes she was afraid, but her face was soft. Her round, turquoise eyes made me feel sympathetic towards her, you could see the desperation she carried. Her smile was crooked and she was wearing a light coat of fuchsia lipstick which highlighted her petite nose and puppy-dog eyes. She was slender; I figured she was around 5"4 and weighed around 115 pounds, give or take a few. I guessed she was in her late twenties too. She was attractive; don't get me wrong, but what sold her away the most was her clothing. She was wearing tightly fitted back open-cut pants, pairing them with a frivolous, lacy black top that secluded any skin in which a woman this age and beautiful would show. There was really only one sure deduction: she was a widow.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" She croaked, you could hear the raw emotion in her voice. She had recently been crying, a lot I figured. I swallowed hard, suddenly hoping I would never be in her position and have to face life without Sherlock. He was my life now, this was my life now. I was familiar with our routine and I relished it. I couldn't imagine living a different life even if I tried, nor would any other life possibly satisfy me as much as this one, frivolously running around solving cases with Sherlock, does. I'd tried it before; civilian life just was not for me.

Sherlock walked in circles around her, slowly, no doubt deducing why this woman was here and what it was she wanted from us. Yes, we made our decision about if we wanted a client together, but Sherlock was _clever_. He read a clients entire life story within seconds, and could tell if a case was worth our time. I would know by one shot at his face if the case would be worth it or not.

"Mr Holmes?" The woman's despairing voice echoed around the apartment.  
Don't get me wrong, I felt for this woman, I truly did. But I wanted Sherlock so badly right now if something doesn't happen soon I will be throwing myself up against Sherlock without hesitation, no matter who is present in the room with us.

Sherlock surprised me- and the woman too I think. He grasped a chair from around the desk and swung it precisely in between our two chairs, sat down in his own and gestured for the red-haired woman to sit. The woman did as he signalled and sat awkwardly in the chair, I followed and went and sat across from Sherlock in my chair.

"Why are you here?"

This was- weird. Sherlock didn't need to be told why clients were here, he already knew. _He usually did,_ anyway.

"Uh, well. Uh, my husband, he... he well…" The woman twiddled with her hands restlessly, looking down as if wanting to avoid our gazes.

"He's dead. Yes, I know that. You know that. John knows that. He's dead. How? How did he die?" Sherlock's interruption was bizarrely quite a turn on. _Grrrr. _His dominance and aggression made me reminiscence about our kiss yesterday, how hungry he was for me. How much I craved him. _Ugh._

The woman looked up to his words, obviously startled by his sudden outburst of rudeness.  
"Y-yes, he is dead. But... I don't know _how_ he died. "

Sherlock's brow shot up in a sharp arch. _He was excited_.  
"I beg your pardon?" You could see a little smirk playing at his lips. _Mhmm._

Our new client looked down again, clearly unsure of what to say.  
"He… I found him dead in his study. He… he locked himself in there and after he didn't respond to me for three days, I broke the door down. I… I thought he was just stressed from work, he did that sometimes, could lock himself away for days at a time. It was normal for him I guess. I found him just sat in his chair, I knew he was dead straight away, his head looked- detached from his body." She shivered and clenched her eyes shut, fighting back the tears.

"Did it not occur to you that the balance of probability is that your husband most likely committed suicide?" Sherlock's voice was emotionless and hard.

The woman whimpered. "Harold would not do that. No. The police said the same thing; they took one look and declared it as a suicide. No one bothered to look further into what had actually happened or even questioned me properly, they saw what was in front of them and that was that. My husband was a great man Mr Holmes, his death deserves justice. He doesn't deserve to be remembered this way by his colleagues and friends, his family. He just doesn't."

Sherlock seemed unbothered by this. I however, understood her completely. She wants to protect the people she loves, even if that person's another world away. I would do the same thing.

"What makes you so sure this wasn't suicide? You say your husband was a great man, but that doesn't mean he wasn't capable of constraining such an act."

"You don't know me Mr Holmes, and I certainly never expect you to. But if you only ever believe one thing out of my mouth, believe me when I tell you my husband did _not_ commit suicide. Not only that, but there was also no evidence to support their premonition. If there were, I certainly haven't seen it which leads me to ask why I would not be shown. What was my husband hiding?"

"Do you think he was hiding something?" I asked, becoming more and more intrigued by this case as the poor woman spoke.

Her head shook tiredly from side to side, the dreariness of her movements led me to believe that either she knew more than she was letting on to, or she doubted what she thought she knew. Yet there was a look of solidarity in her eyes, a look of strength and passion. It was my premeditation that the woman was maybe right, her husband didn't kill himself, perhaps. This left me and Sherlock with really only one option: _murder_.

_

We arrived at the crime scene, or should I say our client's home, an hour later. We were just outside of Henley, quite a secluded area, if you wanted my opinion. As me and Sherlock made our way out of the car, Ms Earnshaw stifled herself outside onto her porch. Her tiny frame elevated the size of her home, which yes was primarily very large, but her petite figure made the house grow.

"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson- thank you so much for coming." Ms Earnshaw gave us a warm smile.

"Where's the study?" Sherlock asked directly.

Her sigh made me wonder. She was one the one who asked us to be here, who invited us. Maybe she was losing confidence in herself and her beliefs. "I'll show you…" She muttered and gestured towards the house.

The entrance to her home was filled with lilies after lilies, condolence bouquets. The staircase was right at the foot of the entry as you walked in; she swiftly led us up the stairs and on to Mr Earnshaw's study.

"Don't worry Ms Earnshaw, we will be quick. I'll know within moments if you are correct about your husband or not. Trust me- this is what I do." And with that, Sherlock abruptly made his way into the study.

"You don't have to be so arrogant all the time you know…" I whispered as I leaned in to Sherlock. Though I had to admit, he made it an attractive attribute. On him anyway.

Sherlock had already put his black, leather gloves on and had his magnifying glass in his hand, already poking his nose into the contents of the room. I watched him as he cautiously inspected the lining of the bookcase and the desk, the windowsill and at one point the floor. His nose wrinkled up adoringly a few times, using all of his senses.

I took a glance around the room- nothing particularly jumped out.

"Have you cleaned the room since or moved anything…?" I asked towards and uncomfortable looking Ms Earnshaw.

"N-No. The last people to fiddle with anything in here have been the police investigators." She clutched her arms around her torso as she stood, as if holding herself up so she wouldn't fall apart.

I turned towards Sherlock, waiting for an answer. He'd had at least a good minute by now.

A few moments later, Sherlock was still pondering.

"Sherlock?"

Nothing.

"Erm Sherlock?" I repeated.

He stood motionless for a moment, then whipped his magnifying glass away and pulled off his gloves.  
"You were right, Ms Earnshaw." Sherlock announced, as if stunned by his own words.

He continued, "Your husband did not commit suicide Ms Earnshaw, he was murdered."

"Sherlock!" I repeated once again- he can't announce something so tactile to himself so brusquely!

"What!?" He quipped, looking towards me.

Ms Earnshaw couldn't hold back her tears now. "H-How? The door was locked from the... the inside. T-There's no way. I just..."

I put a consoling arm around Ms Earnshaw and let her lean into me. "You can't just announce to the world that it's murder Sherlock- where's your proof? What evidence have you got? You haven't even been in this room two minutes yet, for the love of God take it down a notch." I exhaled, feeling worn out and it wasn't even nine o'clock yet.

Sherlock sighed and pursed his lips. He placed his hands under his chin for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. After a moment he started pacing around.

"I need a moment."

With that, Sherlock left the room.

_Wow. _Sherlock never needed a moment. Never.

What just happened?

I led Ms Earnshaw out of the room and back down the stairs, Sherlock had gone outside. I sat Ms Earnshaw down on the sofa and told her to try calm herself down, then politely excused myself to go and look for Sherlock. He wasn't out front by the car, so I walked around the side of the building. I couldn't help but notice how beautiful the scenery was- there were acres and acres of fields filled with blooming flowers of all different colours. If Sherlock was right and Mr Earnshaw was murdered, well you couldn't ask for a more secluded location.

I found Sherlock around the back of the house, staring up to the window of the study.  
"Sherlock!" I shouted as I walked towards him. He face was scrunched up- he seemed, confused. How strange.  
"Sherlock, please, tell me what's going through your mind."

"What did you see John?" His words stabbed at me sharply.

"Erm, what do you mean? In there, in the stuy?"

His eyes rolled and his jaw flexed. "Yes in the study, of course. What else would I be talking about!?"

I have to admit, Sherlock in work mode is unbelievably sexy. I know he doesn't and won't let feelings or anything get in the way of a case, but _damn.__  
_

"Errr…" I tried to pick something out that I could remember from the study to try satisfy him, but I genuinely couldn't recall anything interesting or worthwhile.  
"I really don't know. The place looked untouched, which is why I'm questioning to how you can say this man was murdered. Really Sherlock, how?"

His eyes narrowed further, but I could see them scanning the building. His hands rose to the side of his temples as if without instruction, and Sherlock closed his eyes. He was deducing the facts, scanning his mind palace for something useful. I'd seen this a thousand times over.

Sherlock started to shake, his hands still by his head, his eyes still closed. He was getting frustrated.

I stared around the place aimlessly, wishing something would come to either me or Sherlock to help us. OK, let me get this straight. The husband comes home from work, goes into his study and doesn't leave the room. He doesn't eat or reply or anything. Three days later, the wife checks on him and he's dead. No one came in or out. The door was locked; the wife had to break the door down. How long had he been dead for? A few hours, a few days? The study was spotless too. Hmm. Maybe if we had seen it with the corpse still where he was found, we might have had something to go on. I glanced back towards Sherlock and he was still in the same position.

C'mon John, _think._

_Think._

There had to be something. Something we're both missing. Something staring right at us. Hmm.

"Oh!"

Sherlock's eyes flashed open and he froze in position.

_Something clicked._


	4. Chapter 4

_Sherlock's eyes flashed open and he froze in position._

_Something clicked._

Sherlock scanned the space in front of him as if he were frantically looking for a word on a page.

"Sherlock?" I probed, concerned.

"The window…" He breathed just loud enough for me to hear. My face wrinkled, confused.

"The window? Er Sherlock, the window was locked, it is still locked. There's no way."

He snapped his head towards me, a crazed look in his eyes. "No John- think! Use your head! Look at this house, really look at it. Just from the exterior you presume the house is worth at least an estimate of £850,000, probably more. Mr Earnshaw was a businessman, which means he was clever. Clever about how he did his business, clever about how to protect himself and his wife, and his assets. Just from this angle I can see eight cameras from a top of the line security company installed, this man was cautious. Not just cautious though, _overly cautious_. At the front of the house there are only six security cameras, Mr Earnshaw had two extra around the back. Why? Maybe it was just a coincidence, or maybe it was because his study was at the back of the house, he wanted to protect it more which suggests this man was more than likely up to something illegal, possibly something dangerous. A man like this wouldn't just secure the outside of his home; he would secure the inside too. The windows John, the windows. He would have had Snaplocks on his windows, a new development in home security- a piece of craftsmanship that automatically locks your windows for you when shut. Mr Earnshaw was presumably a busy man, had a lot to think about and remember. Small technological aspects like these would be a form of comfort for him."

That still didn't explain anything. "So?"

He groaned. _God he was stimulating. _"So? What do you mean so?!" There was a heavy tone of annoyance in his voice. "The window John, in his study! Somebody could have easily jumped out of it without needing to worry about what the police would make of an unlocked window, because it wouldn't be unlocked."

_Oh._

"But the security footage didn't show anyone, or anything suspicious?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John, if I can hack into both Lestrade's work and personal hard-drive without even leaving the flat then I'm sure somebody could quite easily breach into a security system and replace existing footage with their own, or previous footage. Home security systems have timestamps on everything, it wouldn't be too difficult change the date or break into the code or even counterfeit the footage or previously existing footage onto anything of your choice. Whoever murdered Mr Earnshaw is certainly not an idiot." The smirk was back on Sherlock's face. "Oh, this is getting rather good!"

I walked up closer to Sherlock and leaned towards him, letting my body linger by his, my face inches from his. "So the murderer broke into the house, hacked into the security system, played around with the footage, murdered Mr Earnshaw and jumped out of the window?" The theory didn't seem quite right to me, something felt off. I reached my arm up to Sherlock's shoulders and let it lightly trace down Sherlock's arm, my fingers lighting entwining with his when I reached his hand.

Sherlock's eyes detracted and flickered to where our hands were. I felt his body tense.

"John," his voice became softer, yet I could hear a twinge of yearning in his voice. "Not now please, we are working a case."

Grinning slightly, I leaned in so my lips were milimeters away from his jawline. I exhaled deeply, fully aware of what I was trying to do. Sherlock let his head fall back ever so slightly and I swear, I couldn't be sure, but I swear I heard a small groan escape from his lips.

Just then Sherlock sharply stepped backwards, shook his head and ruffled his hair with his hands. Something throbbed down below. _God I wanted him._

"John," Sherlock swallowed hard. "I consider myself married to my work, it's who I am. I don't let…" He clenched his teeth, as if struggling to speak. "I don't let emotions or feel… feelings get in the way. I can't. It will cloud my thoughts. I need a clear head to work."

I couldn't help but grin wider at him. He was so adorable. "Sherlock, I know. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

He cleared his throat and adjusted his collar. "Good, good. Er, thank you."

"So," I started, going back to the case. _Later, _I said to myself. "We're looking for a man who has recently been admitted to hospital for broken bones; possibly internal bleeding in the last week or so?"

A flicker of irritation surpassed his face. "Look at the size of the window John. What does that tell us?" He looked up, and I let my gaze follow his.

"That it was possibly a woman? No man would fit through there, respectfully."

"Wrong." Sherlock interjected.

"Then it was a child perhaps?"

"Wrong."

"Sherlock, stop being a clever arse and tell me!" I snapped towards him. We'd talked about the showing off thing before…

"The balance of probability John, the window is quite small for a typical man to fit through, and there's hardly no space on the windowsill yet somehow he still found time to shut the window before he jumped, making sure it was locked. What can you deduce from that?" Sherlock looked back towards me, his hands behind his back. I hate it when he does that. It's his way of saying _'I know already the answer but please venture a guess'_.

I sighed. "I really don't know Sherlock, please just tell me."

He pursed his lips before he spoke. "Meaning, the man we are looking most likely has an abnormal occupation, something rather dissimilar from your stereotypical masculine profession. I'd say maybe an acrobat, or similarly a gymnast."

"An acrobat?"

"I've already mentioned how tiny the windowsill is, our man would have to have supreme accuracy and balance control. Similarly, he would have to be quite flexible to get through the window in the first place and have excellent grip to be able to maintain his self on the windowsill in order to close the window."

He made sense, dammit. "How do you know it was a man though?" I tested.

"Balance of probability."

"Not everything comes down to the balance of probability, Sherlock."

He thought about it for a moment. "Yes, that is true. However look at where we are standing," He gestured around, "Mr Earnshaw played big; the size of his home reflects the amount of respect people will have had for him. The plaques and awards displayed in the living room and in the hallways as we entered the house and also in his study support this, he was beloved don't get me wrong, but he was also a figure who people were afraid of."

Sometimes I think he just makes this stuff up. "How so?"

Sherlock's eyes flashed towards the house and he started walking back towards the front of the house, speaking as he walked. "Take a glance at his wife, expensive diamond earrings with a necklace and a tennis bracelet to match. She has two twenty-four carrot rings on her left hand and her hair is unnaturally red, she's dyed it."

"So?!" I questioned again, walking next to him.

"So the exquisite jewellery tells me her husband used his fortune to keep his wife from leaving. He bought her all that jewellery so people knew she belonged to him, which tells me he was a dominant person who liked people to know what was his, forte his wife. Her hair however- she's dyed it red. Red, it has connotations of danger. She craved the excitement she wasn't getting with her husband, but she couldn't leave because she was afraid of him. So she did the only thing he would allow her to do which was dye her hair. Easy deduction." Sherlock flashed me a smile before he made his way back inside.

I shook my head, following him. The man moved at a mile a minute, his brain never stopped working. I understood where he was coming from now though. It makes sense. It had to be a man because people feared him; no woman would dare try cross him.

Once back inside, Sherlock leaned down in front of Ms Earnshaw who was still sitting on the couch, he took her hand in his. Obviously wanting something- he knew how to play people. "Ms Earnshaw, I understand what a simply distressing time this must be for you, and I apologise about my snappish behaviour earlier. Though I would be appreciative if you could do me a small favour? It would really help to solve the case."

Ms Earnshaw put her free hand towards her heart, "Of course Mr Holmes. Anything. What can I do?"

"I'm going to need to see that security footage."

_The case didn't prove to be as long as I had predicted, Sherlock's mind worked surprisingly quick on this one. I realize that may sound strange to you, but trust me, you don't live with the man. These blog posts you hear the shortened version on what is usually a long-hauled, exhausting case. _

"Are you implying my mind is usually slow on cases Dr Watson?" Sherlock's voice caught me off guard; I turned around and saw a boyish smirk playing around at his lips as he stared at the web page containing my blog.

I lightly smirked back, "Uh no, no. Just meaning that I expected the case to last a little longer, that's all."

Sherlock leaned down closer; I could feel his warm breath against my neck. "Do you really need to type the case up now, Dr Watson?" His words came out in a soothing whisper, and were enough to send a shiver down my back. I loved the way he called me _Dr Watson, _it made an unknown sensation rush throughout my veins, I don't exactly know how to describe it, but it feels _so_ good. Sherlock leaned even closer and rest his head in the nook of my neck, slowing caressing his curls against my skin. The act sent a tingling sensation run through my body and I let my head fall back, trying not to let a groan slip. I didn't want to overwhelm Sherlock too much, but god I wanted him.

For someone so closed off and isolated as Sherlock, a man who has never, as far as I am aware, been in or had any sort of relationship, ever, he was surprisingly _very_ good at… at the physical stuff. I know we have only kissed a little bit, but god the man is arousing. He damn well knows he is too; I don't care what he says the man knows how attractive he is. Nevertheless, I know how uncomfortable all this is to him, I want to respect that the best I can.

"John?" He purred and I reached my left arm up and ran my fingers through his messy curls. He seemed to like that judging from the sudden slight jerk of his body.

"Mhmm…" I replied, trying to be good.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice sounded so innocent it reminded me of leading the new recruits into battle, a standard procedure to break the news boys in; they would always ask if it were ok before setting off or making a decision. Their voices would be so shaky, so unsure of themselves…

I shut the laptop screen and turned to face him, my eyes meeting his. He looked worried, almost as if he was regretting asking the question. My face scrunched up slightly, "Why would you feel the need to ask that?"

Sherlock shifted uneasily, you could see he was trying to decipher what were the correct words to say. It was so strange seeing Sherlock like this… coming face to face with his own feelings. I'll admit, he hadn't even scratched the surface on what I know he's capable of after only observing him like this a little bit, but at least he was showing something. I was amazed, actually. It is Sherlock after all.

"Sherlock?" I stood up, taking one of his hands in mine as I did so, letting the other arm reach up and lightly caress his arm.

"Ajubjubahju… Urm." He cleared his throat and shook his head as if he were trying to shake thoughts right out of it. It appeared he was nervous, hmm. He looked down, trying hard not to lock eyes with me, fiddling apprehensively with my fingers that were intertwined with his.

_Why was he so nervous?_

The silence was drowning between us for a couple minutes. We stood there, Sherlock being all mysterious and hard to read, and me, trying to figure him out. Like we always do.

I wanted so badly to try bring his walls down, even if it were just a tiny bit. When I really thought about it, I knew so little about this man I basically spent all of my time with over the past few years. This man who I care so deeply about, and even more so recently, to my surprise. I never expected this to happen, if I'm honest. I always thought I was straight, I like woman, I enjoy them very much but being with Sherlock… it's _different. _I can't explain it. Yet I get more joy out of running around London or just sitting in our flat with him, than I can ever remember on a date with a woman. Bizarre right? It was only a couple days ago that this realization hit me. Now, I can't picture spending my days with anybody except Sherlock.

Sherlock let go of my hand and walked over to the couch, letting himself fall aimlessly onto it, his head face first into the cushion. I hesitated a moment before walking over and perching next to him. I restlessly scanned over his body, wondering what to say or what to do for him. Why does he do this, _why. _He just shuts off and closes everybody down.

_I need him to need me back. Just once._

Just then, I felt Sherlock's hand slip into mine, and a squeeze.


	5. Chapter 5

_Just then, I felt Sherlock's hand slip into mine, and a squeeze. _

A faint smile caused the corners of my mouth to turn upwards. _Sigh. _I don't think I understand just how hard all this is for Sherlock, who would have thought the most brilliant and genius man in London could be so afraid of his own feelings.

"Sherlock," My voice was soft, "It's ok that you struggle with… all this. I understand. I've known you for a few years now and I shouldn't have expected so... so much from you. Sorry, that sounded wrong, I didn't mean it in a bad way." _Ugh. _

Sherlock stayed in the same position, unmoving. Was it any worth talking to him? I couldn't even be sure if he was even listening to me or not. He had to be,_ he **had** to be. _

I sighed, "I just meant that I know you aren't as… open and communicative with, with your feelings as you are with other things." God knows I understood that, I'm the same way, I suppose.

Still, Sherlock laid motionless, his hand still securely in mine. I stared at our intertwined hands, unwilling to face the reality in front of me. Or should I say, in front of _us._

This couldn't work, could it? Me and Sherlock. Sherlock and I. We couldn't be together.

I didn't know how to accept this. Now that I've come to terms with my feelings for Sherlock, now that I've realised them I don't think I can just turn them off so easily. I know it sounds crazy; it hasn't been long at all, but...

I caught my breath, hit with the sudden realisation of losing him.

These past few years with Sherlock have been the best of my life, admittedly. Sherlock has told me this before; I'm addicted to a certain type of lifestyle. I love the thrill of the chase, the bolt of fear that zaps through your body in a dangerous situation. I crave the feel of blood pumping through my veins, the adrenaline that thrives from it. I first discovered what these things felt like after I finished my medical training and joined the British army. I liked living in 221B Baker Street, too. I relished waking up every morning to whatever mood Sherlock may be in, whether that is a good or bad mood, life was never dull with him. There's a memory that's stuck in my mind since first meeting Sherlock, I don't know why. We'd just met and weren't even moved in together yet, but I was helping Sherlock with a case- our first ever one: A Study in Pink. And for whatever reason, though I understand it better now, Lestrade had set-up a drug-bust inside the flat. I remember feeling confused, although I had only met this man I never for a second thought he would associate himself with drugs, but then something unexpected happened. I was telling Lestrade and his team how they wouldn't be able to find anything in there and Sherlock looked straight at me and said "_John, you might want to shut up now._" I didn't comprehend what he was implying at first, and then _it hit me. _The moment I remember the most about this memory was Sherlock's face after he said that to me, he didn't look guilty or ashamed, he looked intrigued as if he was trying to figure something out, like he was… expecting something. That memory, that look has _always_ stayed in the back of my mind, why? Because it was the exact same look I got when I came back later with my stuff to move in. I realised then Sherlock had _expected _me to leave. He'd expected me to be outraged by his drug habit and his past and leave him. I think that's part of the reason why I did decide to move in with him. I didn't recognize this at the time, but looking back I think I saw a man so confined in his own isolation, so out of touch with human interaction that I couldn't not move in with him. I wanted to help him, and I think, or at least I hope, in some way I have. I am a doctor after all; I can't help but not want to help people. It's who I am.

I let my eyes flicker over Sherlock, laying there. He didn't want to admit it but I suspected he was feeling a bit of pain perhaps? I know that because I feel the exact same.

_We couldn't be together. _

I exhaled deeply, tears just slightly filling up my eyes. I squeezed them tightly, trying to hold back the tears from escaping.

"Sherlock," I breathed shakily. "This… **us**… it can't work. Can it? We can't be together." It would be naïve of me to expect a reply, wouldn't it?

I sighed profoundly. "You and me, I think, I think it would just be too, too difficult to make something work. I don't think you're ready or will ever be ready for a relationship. I get that now, I-I understand. And it's ok, you know? I knew who you were when we met, when I first kissed you and I haven't forgotten about that. I haven't forgotten what you said, you consider yourself married to your work and that's ok. It really is." I had to stop speaking; I felt a huge lump in my throat.

Sherlock still lay there, lifeless. Was he really not going to react at all? Even a little bit?

I swallowed hard and carried on speaking, at this point words were just slipping irrepressibly from my mouth. "We can still do this though… solving crimes. I don't want that to stop because of this. Admittedly it will be hard, I know that, but we can just go back to the way things were before can't we? I don't want anything to change; I don't want _us _to change. Please, Sherlock. I'm still your friend, we are still friends. Friends who share a flat and solve crimes." My words evaporated into the air, as if un-affecting Sherlock at all. I didn't know what else to say to him.

We stayed there for several minutes, deafened by the silence of everything we were not saying and everything we should have been saying.

With the hand that was still intertwined in his, I let my thumb lightly trace the back of his a few times. I wasn't sure if I should stay or if I should leave him alone to his thoughts. I sat, tormented by the decision for a few moments before I decided it would be best if I left him alone for a while. After all, alone is what protects him, right?

I let his hand loose and stood up, my whole body feeling weak. I took one last deep breath before I walked away, looking back once more before I left the flat.

_ 

My hand was still left open, still in the same place as where John had left it when he _let me go. _I was trying so hard to disengage myself from these feelings… To not feel anything.

I knew John would leave, I knew he wouldn't want a relationship with me. _Who would want to be with me? _

The flat felt colder or maybe it was just me. I wasn't sure. Hmm.

"_Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock."_

Mycroft's words were screaming at me, I couldn't block them out.

"_Not getting involved, Sherlock."_

I drew my legs in tighter, pulling away the hand John had just been holding. I still felt his warm fingers interlocked with mine, the memory was comforting. _The memory. _That's all it was now, just a memory. The thought made my chest tighten and I shook it away, bringing both my hands up to my head and over my ears. I pressed desperately against myself, wishing I could block out all feelings. Wishing I could block out John's words.

"_We can't be together…" _He had said without strain. "_We're still friends… Friends who solve crimes." _That's all we'll ever be I suppose. It's alright though, John deserves more. John deserves better.

I could talk forever about John Watson, his warm heart and hospitable smile. The way his forehead would crease while he thought, the smirk full of adrenaline and exhilaration get got while we worked on a case, the way he danced as he saved the lives of our clients with each case we took, I could go on forever about the depth and complexity of his jumpers and how he always tries to flatten down and rearrange his hair even though it makes no difference. The way he steals little bits of breakfast as he cooks it and the sound of delight he makes after his first sip of coffee on a morning. The way he talks to himself when he thinks I'm not paying attention and the way he imitates my words or actions when he's frustrated with me...

The more I thought about John the more dominant the aching sensation became in my chest. I need to distract myself; I need to do something, _anything._

I stood outside the flat, my head plunged backwards and my hands dug firmly into my head. Did I do the right thing? Was that the right choice?

I let out a rickety breath and straightened myself up, where to go now? I reached into my pocket, grabbed my phone and dialled the only person I could think of that I could go to in this situation.

"John?" The voice asked with a hint of insult in their harsh tone.

"I'm sorry I called. I didn't know who else to ring." I felt down, really, really down.

"I'll be right there, John." He hung up the phone immediately.

I waited anxiously, pacing up and down the street as looked out for his car. I wasn't even sure what I was going to say to him, or why I even called him if I'm being honest. He's either going to somehow make this easier or make the whole situation worse. Though right now I was so desperate it was worth the gamble.

Several prolonged minutes later, I saw his car deviate around the corner and pull up beside the street in front of me. I didn't want Sherlock to see, so I hurriedly made my way to the car and jumped inside.

Mycroft eyed me questionably, his lips pursed. I didn't know how to start.

"What's wrong, John? What has he done?" Mycroft placed his hands calmly in his lap, his fingertips pressed tightly together. He was nervous, it seemed.

"Er," I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, "he, er, he hasn't done anything. It was me." I bit my lip anxiously, I didn't think about what it would be like to have to explain all this to Mycroft. I saw him take a glance up and down at me, trying to make a deduction.

"What happened, John?" Mycroft's voice was stern now; he leaned further towards me, his eyes locked firmly on mine.

"He… I, we…" I was genuinely lost for words. Bloody hell, Mycroft has just as good deduction skills as his brother, why couldn't he get there on his own? I gestured my hands up, my fists clenched, trying to find the right words. "Mycroft…" I sighed as my head titled, looking at him knowingly.

"_Oh." _There it was.

Mycroft thought about it for a moment, his expression surprised. "You mean my brother finally told you how he feels about you, Doctor Watson?" The corners of his mouth curved up amusedly. I nodded.

Mycroft leaned back in his seat and raised his eyebrows, dazed. "Well, well. Sherlock Holmes finally admitting his.. feelings. My, oh my." He chuckled lightly to himself. My hand twitched, still clenched.

"Mycroft," My jaw flexed, my nostrils flared. "Wait- what do you mean '_finally_'?"

He smiled as if pleased with himself, "Oh come on Doctor Watson, even you had to have seen it? My brother's had feelings for you since the day you two first met."

"You… you've known?" I looked down, not wanting to meet his stare.

"Of course I've known, he is my brother, after all. I've actually found it rather amusing these past few years, my brother rarely shows affection, never usually cares. If my memory serves me correctly, the last time I remember such a thing was when we were children. But look how he cares about you, John Watson." He snickered, his smile made me feel uneasy. "What would you like me to do then, John?"

"I-I don't know. I don't know what to do. Do I go back? What?" I kept trembling on my words. This was hard for me.

This time Mycroft shifted in his seat, almost as if giving himself time to contemplate his words. "He finds it difficult, this sort of stuff. You both do. Henceforth why you have decided not to try make.. something.. happen." He seemed mystified at the thought; I guess he's never had a relationship of his own to be able to understand. "Forgive me though, John. This is not my area of expertise, if I had to give you any advice I would say leave him alone. Let him digest this on his own." Mycroft shrugged his shoulders a little, looking at his watch. "I do have a very busy day, as always John. Are we quite finished?"

I clenched both my fists now; the tightness is my chest rising intensely. Looking back up at him, I found it very hard to resist the urge to punch him. Of course, I'm not going to. Punching him wouldn't make anything better. Though, it might please Sherlock a bit, which made the idea even more tempting. Pressing my lips together, I opened the car door and shifted my way out.

"Mycroft," I remembered what I wanted to ask, I leaned my head back in so I could get a good view of his face, "Has he ever had.. any.. form of.. a girlfriend or boyfriend perhaps? He supposedly hasn't, but I just, just wanted to check, really." I studied his face for any sign of deception- nothing.

"No, he hasn't. As far as I am aware." Mycroft spoke, emphasising each word perfectly. He puckered his lips before he flashed me a devilish smile.

"Right," I nodded in response. Calling Mycroft wasn't a total waste I suppose. I leaned out and shut the car door, looking down the street, wondering what the hell I should do now.

Before I started moving, the window to Mycroft's car rolled down, his face plastered seamlessly in place as if I were looking at a picture. "The doctor and the virgin," Mycroft spoke humorously, "this _**will** _be interesting."

I caught a faint glimpse of his deviant smirk as the window rolled up and the car drove away.

_What was I going to do now?_


	6. Chapter 6

It was coming up to ten o'clock; the quirky night sky had taken over. I've been gone since this morning, after I spoke to Mycroft I wandered around for a little then decided to go to the surgery. I wasn't due in today, but I attended to some administration paperwork that needed doing and helped keep things steady, I think they appreciated the extra help. _Sigh. _I am due back in in the morning however. I didn't particularly want to go back to the flat, but I needed some fresh clothes for work tomorrow. If I hadn't of been in today it would be fine, but it would look highly unprofessional of me to return to work the following day in yesterday's clothes. I gulped, thinking about what I would say to Sherlock, thinking about the sharpness of his cheek bones and the way his curls would sometimes fall further across his face- _no. _**No**.

This is going to take some getting used to.

"Thanks," I mumbled towards the driver, throwing him some money as I slipped out the taxi. The cold evening air whistled against my face, I looked 221B up and down, my nerves getting the better of me. Maybe sleeping outside wouldn't be so bad? _No John, no. _

I let loose a shaky breath, cracking my fingers as I did so. I could do this. _We're still friends_ I had told Sherlock this morning, which is still true. We are still friends, _of course_ we are. Yet I couldn't shake that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that somehow this was all a mistake, that Sherlock could in fact handle being in a relationship and I was just playing off past emotions and memories. I really hope that feeling isn't wrong, but at the end of the day I know Sherlock, I've always known who he is and I can't expect him to change. That's' not fair of me and it's not fair on Sherlock either. I mean I'm not exactly blameless myself; I struggle with… stuff like that too. I'm more open about it than Sherlock is, but I can't blame it all on him.

221B looked taller somehow; the building peered over me and made me catch my breath. I wasn't quite sure of what would happen once I got inside.

* * *

The pressure of my foot on the bottom step made a loud squeaking sound, my face wrinkled up and I hesitated a moment. _C'mon John, deep breath. You can do this- you were a solider for Christ's sake. _Shaking off my nerves, I leapt hastily up the stairs and opened the door into the flat. _Hm._

Sherlock wasn't there or at least in sight. I walked further in, taking my coat off and placing it on my chair. Hm, he wasn't in the kitchen either and I couldn't hear him in his room. He couldn't possibly be sleeping though, could he? Sherlock doesn't sleep, **he's a machine**.

Just to make sure, I wandered over to his room and took a quick gaze in. At first I leaned back out of the room, cautious as to where Sherlock was then the images in my mind fell into place. _Is that Sherlock? Asleep?! _Suddenly confused, I opened his door wider and unexpectedly, there he was. _Asleep. _Sherlock was in bed, sleeping. Quietly I pulled the door two and rested my head against it, I felt sick. Bizarrely this was worse than coming home and finding Sherlock still laid awake on the sofa or smoking in the kitchen or something. For Sherlock to actually be asleep he must have really not of wanted to be awake.

I walked up to my room, still dazed and feeling lightheaded. Once there, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bed. I felt drained, but not tired. I felt like I could sleep, but I knew I wasn't going to. My mind was running over every detail of the day, running over every possible way of how of how to handle the situation between me and Sherlock. What do I do? I wish I could just go back downstairs and crawl into bed with Sherlock, feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine. I inhaled deeply, reminiscing about the smell of Sherlock this morning when he lingered by me, he didn't smell of any fancy cologne but more... more natural. He just smelt like Sherlock, delicious and welcoming.

My body curled up slightly and I groaned. This does make a change; usually it's Sherlock who can't sleep and me who lays asleep upstairs. I sort of wish he was awake, but on the other hand I was glad he was actually getting some rest. He needed it. Also, this gives me some extra time to think about what I'm going to say too. Do I play it cool? Can I just be like _"Morning Sherlock, coffee?"_ as usual and pretend like nothing ever happened, or do I try not to acknowledge him and do as Mycroft said to and leave him alone for a few days? I know we only solved a case this morning, but surly another case would come in soon, we would have to speak then. Or at least interact with one another.

_Yeah. _I think that's what we need, a case. Something to distract us both from the current situation going on between us, something that will force us to interact but not in a harsh, obligatory way. Sherlock is always at his happiest when on a case, so there would be that too. I suppose I am too, admittedly. Like I've said before, there's nothing like the thrill of the chase. I'm sure Sherlock's inbox is already overflowing with more potential clients; the only issue is getting him to check it. I've always been the one to go through his inbox and carefully select cases that our worth our time, then Sherlock would usually pick one from the one's I have narrowed down. I smiled, remembering old times. I have a good thing going with Sherlock, a _really_ good thing.

I rolled over onto my side to stare out the window, why couldn't I get Sherlock out of my head?

I'd tried my best throughout the day to think about old ex-girlfriend's to try take my mind off of him and everything, I even tried flirting with Sarah a few times, but it didn't work. The past few days have been so surreal, it's literally like someone shook my former sexuality out of me and turned up the knob to full on homosexual. It's quite strange to think about actually, how much I repressed my feelings for Sherlock. A week ago I could see an attractive woman walk past on the street from out the window and instantly be engrossed by her and want to ask her out, but now, _nothing_. I walked past plenty beautiful woman today, even interacted with a few at the surgery yet there I bloody was thinking about Sherlock and if he was ok. When I think about it though, I've always done that, haven't I? In the past I've had several girlfriends tell me that I was an '_excellent boyfriend_', to Sherlock Holmes. Anytime he rang or text me, even if I were on a date, I would be by his side as soon as I could. I would, and have, essentially dropped everything for him. Whenever it was meal times I always fret about what Sherlock's going to eat before myself, I like to nag at him about stuff too. I like to moan when he really hasn't eaten enough and he needs to, or when he leaves his tea or coffee cup lying around or when he refuses to sleep even though I know he could. I never thought anything of this behaviour; I just always thought it was how you were with your best friend. Which I suppose in many ways, it is. I just never realised the romantic… spark, you could say, between us. _Not until now._

_Bump. _

_Oh?_ Sherlock? Or was it Mrs Hudson perhaps? Hmm, should I get up and go have a look or not, I debated to myself. If it was Mrs Hudson it would be fine, I could even get her to make me a cuppa, I could really use one come to think of it. But if it was Sherlock, that would be different. He was just asleep in bed though. _Hmm.  
_I really have the frustrating need to see him but I wouldn't know what to say. This is Sherlock here, if this situation was with a woman, well it wouldn't be good but it would be a whole lot easier. Actually, even if this was with another man it would be easier- it's just because it's Sherlock as to why it's so awkward and hard to manoeuvre around. Because it's Sherlock and me- the doctor and the virgin, as Mycroft had called us. I had to admit, that was still playing with my mind, not just because the way he said it made him sound like an obnoxious arsehole, which it did, but just because Sherlock was actually… a virgin. Sherlock has never spoken about his past before, nor has he ever spoken about any, past relationships he may have had. Mycroft has always referred to his little brother as 'the virgin', at first I thought it was just brotherly teasing, but after a while I realized it was actually true. I mean, _have you seen him? _How is it or could it even be possible that man is a virgin?

Thinking about both Sherlock and sex was a little too much to handle, I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away and decided to get up and go see if it was Sherlock or not fumbling about downstairs.

Walking down the stairs, I heard someone fiddling about in the kitchen. It had to be Sherlock, but why would he be in the kitchen? Unless he woke up and decided to experiment with something.

"Sherlock?" I called out gently as I opened the door and stepped into the room. I walked around the corner and momentarily hesitated. _Oh_.

"Mrs Hudson? My eyes flickered over to Sherlock who was sat scoffing biscuits, as if unaware of what he was actually doing. I blinked a few times, my eyes flickering between Sherlock and Mrs Hudson. Was I dreaming? Hadn't Sherlock just been asleep not ten minutes ago?

"Oh hello dear, sorry did I wake you?" Mrs Hudson said sheepishly, "I was just making Sherlock some tea, would you like some?"

I blinked several times, my eyes flickering to Sherlock who was avoiding having to look at me. "Uhh yeah, yes- thank you. Tea would be lovely."

"I won't be a moment dear you sit down, you've had a long day." Mrs Hudson was unaware of the obvious conflict between me and Sherlock; she was going about her business as her usual cheery and ditsy self.

I wandered over and sat down in my chair, opposite from Sherlock who was still staring down mindlessly at his tea cup. Well, nothing's changed, right?

"Sherlock, you alright?" I stared directly at him, waiting for him to respond.

Nothing.

I tried again. "Sherlock?"

Still, he chose not to acknowledge me. I noticed how hard he was trying to distract himself; his tea was swirling in circular motion as Sherlock gently moved about his cup. I hated this, fair enough if it was just another one of his 'I don't talk for days sometimes' spells, but it wasn't. He was purposefully ignoring me.

"Here you are dear, careful now." Mrs Hudson uttered as she set the cup on table next to me. "Anything else I can do for you boys while I'm here?" I smiled back towards her, "No thanks Mrs Hudson, please do go back to bed it's late."

"Oh it's no trouble; I'm used to doing this. He never sleeps does this one!" Mrs Hudson giggled as she gestured towards Sherlock, still looking down fiddling with his tea. "Right boys well I'd best be off, do try get some sleep won't you Sherlock? All this faffing around isn't good for you, you know! I'll have to have words with your mother!"

Of course, Sherlock didn't even look up. I jumped a little as Mrs Hudson closed the door, as if hit with the realisation that I was now alone with Sherlock.

I studied him carefully. His hair seemed less curly than usual, the straight ends of his locks were plastered against the side of his face, his shirt was unbuttoned by a few more than usual, and he'd even missed a button too. His posture was off as well, he was slumping, his shoulders sagging. He wasn't tired, I know Sherlock. But he was something… Something else, hmm.

Picking up my tea cup, I sipped it a few times before settling it back on the table. My chair felt more uncomfortable than usual, I shifted a few times trying to find a relaxed position but it was proving to be difficult. _Sigh._

Suddenly Sherlock jumped up, I didn't even hear or see him put his tea cup down. Less swiftly than usual, he made his way to the window, picked up his violin and began to play.

The deep, low pitch of the violin filled the room, whispering like the wind and warm like a blanket. Each pull of the strings was like a tug of the heart, the screech of the violin made your chest feel tighter each time. Sherlock upped the pitch a little, getting higher and higher each second until the sound was borderline painful. But, just before the pain reached the ears, Sherlock stopped momentarily and for a brief second there was only silence.

The sound started to whisper again, low and filled with melancholy. Sherlock started playing slower; it was as if the sound of his violin was representing the conflict inside of him.

Just then I realised…

_Sherlock was upset_.


End file.
